


Dear World

by thegreatandpowerfultoaster



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (Isnt everything i write kind of an id fic tho), Alternate Universe, Amnesia, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Good Cows, Id Fic, Literal Sleeping Together, Medical Inaccuracies, Multi, My title/chapter titles are a heathers joke im sorry, Peter "its really none of my business" Lukas, Polyamory, Scottish Honeymoon ft. Peter, Sharing a Bed, Tea, Temporary Amnesia, There is still only one bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23088829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatandpowerfultoaster/pseuds/thegreatandpowerfultoaster
Summary: "Nothing. Waking up, I suppose. It's awfully strange, losing your entire sense of self, but not as world-shattering as it sounds. More of a minor inconvenience, really."Jon shakes his head. "Only you, Peter Lukas."
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Peter Lukas/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 21
Kudos: 84





	1. Believe it or not, I knew about Fear

**Author's Note:**

> [The prompts I'm using!](https://oh-nostalgiaa.tumblr.com/post/182685188879/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-ill-write-a-short)  
> This one's a waking up with amnesia au!

There is murmuring coming from all directions. It's strangely uncomfortable, the sound grates on his ears. He wants to open his eyes just so he can properly tell off whoever it is who's talking.

He manages it, after a fight, but before he can tell them off, his head starts swimming like all the blood has gone suddenly rushing into it. And cold. He's so, so cold. 

"Whoa!" One of the people standing over him says, tone light, and tired. "Peter, are you okay? Jon says there's something wrong with you."

At first he thinks the man's talking to the other figure, on his other side, but this first man is looking at him.

Peter. Huh. He must be Peter. It feels right, he supposes. He nods, and his brain knocks around inside his head with sharp jabs. 

The other man, the sharper one is staring at him intently. It makes him very, very uncomfortable. Not just because it's rude, but for some other reason he can't identify. "He isn't," the other man (Jon?) "Martin, I didn't mean to -"

Martin shushes him gently. Now that Peter has a better look at him, Martin seems far away, calm, when somehow Peter knows he should not be calm. It seems Jon is worried about the state of Martin more than he is the state of Peter. That's fine. Other than the obvious things (the headache, laying in a dark and dusty floor in the middle of God knows where, not recalling anything about...anything) he's fine.

"What exactly happened?"

"Asking him brought him out of the Lonely, but I'm not certain if the statement made the Lonely reject him, or the head trauma leading to the amnesia made the Lonely reject him."

"Oh," says Martin softly. This talking like he isn't here thing really ought to bother him more. How does Jon know he's lacking in any of the usual commonplace experiences. "So he doesn't remember anything?"

Jon shakes his head.

"Then we can't just leave him here."

They would have, if he remembered himself? Fair, probably. He didn't know what sort of person he'd been, maybe he was an awful one. Or maybe Jon and Martin were the awful ones.

 _No_ , says a little voice in his head, awfully posh and sounding like someone he can't name but is still impossibly familiar. _You are - were the bad one._

He gets the feeling that Jon would leave him here anyways, if it wasn't Martin asking. And looking at Martin, he supposes he can see why. Martin offered Peter a hand up, which he takes. 

Martin doesn't feel...it's strange. He doesn't quite feel as solid as he looks, and he's just as cold as Peter is. Jon grabs on to his other arm to help hoist him up, and is much less gentle about it. Peter wonders what he did to Jon, to warrant this sort of behavior, but when he tries to remember, there's nothing except that splitting headache, made worse by being upright. "Can you walk?" Jon asks him. 

"Think so." His own voice doesn't come out right. 

Jon puts himself between Peter and Martin, and drapes one arm around Martin's waist, gently guiding him towards through the dark, damp halls of wherever it is that they are. Peter has sort of an _oh_ moment then about what exactly their connection must be.

He can walk, even if he's slow, but Martin and Jon are hobbling along at just as slow of a pace. 

They don't stop in the building above the tunnels they'd come from, which has to be for the best, because he decided he does not want to meet whatever had been through there, leaving massive claw marks on furniture and papers strewn everywhere. 

They walk and walk and walk, making what must be quite the picture, the three of them shambling down the street like the undead. Jon stops abruptly a ways down the street. "Is he still in port?"

"That's the first place Elias would look," Martin says. "Let's just go to my flat, for now and then we'll figure out if that's a good idea or not. I can't...It's just loud."

"Alright," Jon says, and they keep walking.

By the time they reach Martin's flat Martin himself look pale and sickly and about to fall over. Peter can't imagine he looks much better himself, because his headache hadn't settled at all and the street had been much too loud and crowded. Jon ushers them both inside, and Martin sits on the couch while he opts to hover near the door. Jon kneels at Martin's feet and takes his hand. Peter ought to look away, but it's such a strange affection he can't. 

"I'm going to make you some tea, I'll only be in the other room. Is that alright?"

"Yes, that's - that's fine. You're not really going anywhere."

"Right. Just holler if you need me." Jon disappears, but not before giving Peter a dirty look, like he's supposed to know what that means. Is he supposed to know what that means? Martin fidgets nervously on the couch for a minute, before he turns around to look at Peter. 

Martin looks like he's sorry for Peter, and pays the spot beside him. "Come sit down?"

He shakes his head. "Wouldn't want to intrude."

"You're not. You're not even - You don't even know what's going on, do you? I can answer your questions. It'll keep me busy, at least." 

That's a more than tempting offer. Peter stalks over to the seat beside Martin in a manner rather like a frightened cat, but sits down. Martin's eyes are still glassy and distant, but he looks a little better now that he's sat for a moment, not quite as pallid. "How do I know you?" That seems like a simple enough place to start.

"I was your assistant for a while," he says, and that seems easy enough, if it doesn't really explain anything about the situation. "You took over for my boss after....Well, he sort of committed murder? Several times."

Martin is most certainly the rambling sort, even if Peter feels like he's missing most of the story, still. Jon comes back in, balancing three mugs in his hands. "Don't bother, Martin. He looks even more confused than he did before. I'm sure there's a tape somewhere we could hand him. Besides, both of you need to rest."

"I'm fine," Martin says. "R - Really. Are you going to call Basira?"

"Yes. But you are going to take a nap." Then Jon turns his attention on him, who makes him feel more than a little uncomfortable. "What do you remember?"

"Nothing. Waking up, I suppose. It's awfully strange, losing your entire sense of self, but not as world-shattering as it sounds. More of a minor inconvenience, really."

Jon shakes his head. "Only you, Peter Lukas, He says, as Peter files away that new bit of information. "Get some rest, will you? We're likely getting out of the city as quickly as possible."

What did they _do_? In lieu of asking, Peter simply nods. Jon sits on the other side of Martin and messed around with his cell phone for a while before holding it up to his ear. 

Peter tries to not feel hurt that Martin leans on Jon when he falls asleep. He doesn't even know Martin, or what he's done to Martin. Maybe this is a leftover feeling. Maybe he does have good reason to be...Jealousy, that's what this is. To be jealous.

Jon talks in hushed tones on the phone for a very long time, pausing only to make a gesture at Peter with the hand that isn't sandwiched between Martin and the phone. It takes him a moment to interpret, but Peter grabs the stationary and pen off the coffee table in front of them and hands it over. He scribbles something down. It looks like an address, and vague directions. "Thank you, Basira," He says eventually. "We'll call again when we're there? I know. Of course, I don't know what - I know. Goodbye." 

He leans back against the couch and laughs.

"This is - This is beyond absurd. I am going to kill Elia -" Jon sighs, and suddenly becomes remarkably somber. "I'm going to...I'm going to...Okay. We're okay."


	2. I Knew the way Loneliness stung

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This just keeps getting longer!!

They get him caught up in the car. Sort of. His name is Peter Lukas, he is the captain of the Tundra, Interim Director of the Magnus Institute, he (used to) serve an entity that fed off people's fear of being alone, and now they're running because someone named Elias - or maybe Jonah - wants to get them, and so do the police, or something.

That is admittedly a lot to take in, despite his unaffected attitude. 

Martin says that Peter had wanted him to join this Lonely God, or maybe be fed to it. He wasn't sure. Martin says Jon's sorry for what happened to his head. Jon does not say sorry, and also fails to elaborate on what exactly happened. Peter says sorry for hurting Martin, and Martin turns around in his seat to offer Peter a wobbly smile. 

" _You_ didn't do it, so you've really got nothing to worry about."

Martin has a lovely smile, even as close to tears as he is. He can't really imagine getting any pleasure out of hurting him. 

* * *

They end up at a secluded place in Scotland. Barely a house, really, but from what Martin and Jon have managed to tell him about his family, maybe he isn't really in a position to make a judgement on it.

Martin and Jon start to both haul their things in, he shoves his hands into his pockets and follows behind. The door is nearly rusted closed, and the power generator in the back has an ungodly amount of vegetation growing on it, and Peter learns he's allergic to dust very quickly, but it seems like it could be worse.

Well, until Jon makes a loud huffing noise from down the uncomfortably narrow hall, and stomps back into the living room, and just glares at the wall for a minute before his face falls into his hands.

The whole thing without context is actually quite hilarious. Jon holds himself very stiffly and primly but it's as though it's all a show he forgets sometimes, and then he's rather animated with his emotions and gestures. 

Martin turns around from where he's dusting off cupboards with the sleeve of his sweater. "What's wrong?"

"You're going to laugh."

"No! I mean, no promises, I guess. Not if it's serious."

Jon glances between the two of them, and Peter pretends he isn't listening intently by immediately breaking eye contact as soon as Jon looks at him. "There is - I mean, it is Daisy's, and she is just one person, but I suppose I thought -"

"Jonathan, don't keep us in suspense," Peter offers for the sole purpose of being difficult, and Jon buries his head in his hands again. 

"There's only one bed. And before you say anything else, Martin, the couch is more of a loveseat, and even as... _I'm_ not going to fit, or I'd offer." Jon is the shortest of them, he realizes then. Martin is...He thinks he and Martin are about the same, height wise. He wonders if there is a mirror somewhere in this sorry excuse for a house, so he can get a good look at himself, since he can't really recall any of his features for himself. 

Martin is already laughing. Peter's not sure he understands what's so funny here. "You're kidding."

"I very much wish I was."

Martin laughs until he is literally in tears. Jon looks wholly unamused, with his arms folded tightly and the faint frown. "I could sleep in the car," Peter offers. He's fairly certain that if he were not here they'd be okay with it. "It won't exactly be comfortable, but we have to get groceries tomorrow anyways, and we can pick up an air mattress or something then."

Martin (having recovered just a little) shakes his head. "That's ridiculous. There's room, and we're all adults, right?"

"Martin, after today, after what happened, are you certain -"

"You don't - You don't feel even a little bit bad? Knowing what he had to grow up with? What he's dealing with now?" Martin looks at him. " I don't mean - I don't mean I pity you, I just mean I think I knew you better than most people did, and maybe I should be angry, but I don't want to be angry." And then he turns back to Jon. "But it's - It's up to you, really."

Jon catches his eye again. It is not really up to Jon, and they are both well aware of this. "Its fine," he says. 

He does end up finding a full length mirror in the bedroom. His hair is blonde and silver, and he has the broad shoulders he'd sort of expected, but he is otherwise unsure of how he _ought_ to look.

It doesn't feel like himself looking back at him, but he can't exactly think of how it's wrong, or what might be better. Unfortunate, strange, but not life-shattering.

Peter has stolen one of Martin's comfy looking sweaters from his pack (well, actually he'd offered it) and is the second one in bed, which is excellent, actually because the house is cold, and Martin is warm. "Huh," Martin murmers, and he is not certain if he is meant to comment on it, so he asks.

"What?"

"You're warm. Well - not really. You're still cold, but you're like...Normal person cold instead of long dead corpse cold. Oh - oh, I mean...I'm sorry."

Peter just shuts his eyes and moves in closer, head on Martin's chest. They are strangers, practically, but it doesn't feel that way. "Ah, excellent. Let's experiment, then. See if I can get to a good normal human temperature."

"I - Oh. Okay, that's - We can do that."

He sits there for a minuite, reveling in the silence. "You know," He says finally, leaning back enough to be heard. "I don't feel like I'd enjoy being lonely."

"O - Oh?"

"No. This is rather nice, but also, if I'm lonely, who can I talk to? I think I rather like to talk."

Martin actually snorts. It's cute. He's adorable, actually. "That makes sense. You always did like to go on - Not that it's a bad thing. I guess I go on a lot, too, I just thought you'd be stotic and quiet and somber. But...then you weren't. You were funny, and liked to go on, and on, and on about boats because you knew I had things to do."

"I think I must've liked having your attention. I certainly do now."

Martin blushes. "Uhm, I'm not - I'm not anything too special."

"Jonathan seems to think so, and I certainly do, so don't give yourself too little credit."

That just makes the blushing worse, and splotchy. "Oh my dear God, just go to sleep."

"Gladly," Peter says, snuggling in closer, and proceeds to do so.


	3. But I weep for all I failed to be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Only one more chapter after this!" I say, EVERY SINGLE TIME
> 
> this was going to be one chapter, I am a fool

He's not sure how long he sleeps before he's torn out of it with painful gasps and cold night air filling his lungs. He doesn't mean to be loud about it, but he doesn't quite come back to himself in time to stop himself. 

He bats at the hands on him and through the gasps manages an, "Off, off," before stumbling into the living area and seating himself on the loveseat. It all starts to pull itself together after a little bit of sitting. Jon is standing at the end of the hall, not looking a him. 

Peter lets his head fall against the back of the couch. "Do I know a man with blue eyes?" That seems specific enough. It isn't like he's feeling especially eloquent after that. 

"I wasn't in your dream?"

"No? You're lovely, of course, but -"

"This isn't a joke," he snaps. "That was...That was likely Elias. Jonah. I think you knew him rather well."

"Huh."

Jon sighs. "Just 'huh'?"

He shrugs before realizing Jon probably can't see him in the dark. "Don't quite know what else to say. At least I know what he looks like now, yeah?" And his office in great detail, and the lobby below it, and the receptionist. He recalls walking through that lobby today (or perhaps yesterday, now) but that memory is fuzzy in comparison to the - it's memory, he has now. He'd walked through that lobby a great deal of times since...since...

Well it was a very long time of being envoy to the Magnus Institute. It feels a bit like a puzzle piece slotted into place, except it's a middle one with nothing much on it and nothing much next to it. "Huh," he says again, and he hears Jon rest his head on the hallway with a _clunk_.

"Come back to bed, will you?" He quickly tacks on a, "Before Martin wakes up and starts to worry."

"Ah yes," he says, hoisting himself to his feet. "Solely for Martin's sake. You've got absolutely nothing to do with it."

"Insufferable! I should have known you'd retain that, at least." If Jon reaches over Martin once they're settled to offer him a hand, and if Peter takes it, neither of them comment on it. 

* * *

Jon squints at the shopping list in his hands. "I thought this trip was for essentials only."

"It is." Martin says from where he's leaning on the shopping cart.

"Very essential," Peter adds helpfully.

Jon turns from squinting at the list to squinting at both of them. "Really? Should I start listing off on this list that decidedly so not qualify as essentials? For instance, six different kinds of tea? How about - oh, lovely. Four boxes of cake mix. Very essential."

Martin smiles, and Peter knows that they will get their tea and chocolate cake mix. "It's a good way to make the safehouse feel like home, but we don't have to." Peter wonders if Martin knows that Jon is only really arguing for show. "Besides, the cake mix was Peter's idea. And he's paying! Well, I am, but it's his bank account."

"Never baked a cake in my life, but it sounds rather nice." Well. None that he can recall, anyways but he doesn't seem much like he was the type. Besides, what's the other options for the afternoon? Steal one of Jon's boring non-fiction books he'd dragged up with the rest of his essentials? Watch Martin watch cows out the window? 

Jon rolls his eyes. "Ugh. Well if you really feel that it's necessary." 

Martin gives Peter a coy sort of look over where Jon has gone back to squinting at the list, which gives Peter his answer about if Martin knows Jon would do whatever he asked (if terribly begrudgingly). 

* * *

They fall into an easy sort of way back at the safehouse. Jon perches at the kitchen table with a book, although he seems to be much more engrossed in the disaster that is turning out to be Peter cooking than the actual book.

Fair. 

Martin is...Well, he is attempting to help. It had started with just suggestions but then he had gotten minorly frustrated and was now doing most of the actual baking, which is likely for the best given how much cake mix and egg he'd managed to get on himself in such a short time.

"You can't bake a cake from a _box_ ," Martin is laughing, actually and Peter is trying very hard to keep a straight face. "You can't use a _computer_ , did you even have an education?!"

"Ah," Peter says. "I don't know how to use a computer? I'm fairly certain I do."

Not well, but passably. He recalls someone teaching him, actually. A tall, broad Samoan man that he can't quite put a name to. Good man. Friend? Probably not. 

And there is something else. Will they throw him out of he remembers? Will he be a different person if he remembers? It is slowly coming back to him, but he doesn't want...

He's not sure what he doesn't want. To hurt either of them? To be thrown out of this lovely (if not horribly dull) cottage? Both? Neither? 

Martin gasps at him. "You were lying to me! You were lying for attention! You absolute prick!"

Jon, the dear, jumps to his defense. "To be fair, he doesn't remember lying."

"I'd do it again."

"I am trying to help you, you ingrate." 

"What, _you_ wouldn't bother Martin for his attention?"

Jon fully sets the book down, looks him in the eye, and replies dryly, "Believe me when I say that Martin already knows exactly what lengths I would go to go get his attention." 

Martin beams. "It was cute. I ...I did get them."

"Yes, yes. I - I thought so." 

"I'm sorry I didn't -"

Jon immediately waves him off. "I didn't expect you to reply. You did what you thought you had to."

The mood seems to sour very quickly, and Peter occupies himself with stirring. And then he very quirky decides on saying, "What happens after I remember?"

"We don't know if -" Martin starts.

"It will," Jon says. "It will come back, Martin."

And yet, knowing that, Jon has still shown him some semblance of decency. Martin grabs the bowl out of his grasp and efficiently dissipates the remaining lumps in the batter. "So what?" He says. "He's not in the Lonely, he doesn't owe Elias anything, even if - I want things to be different this time. I know you're not a bad person, Peter."

He doesn't want to be a bad person, maybe solely because Martin doesn't think he is, but he doesn't. "I can't speak to that, but I'll....Take your word for it. But! This is getting terribly heartfelt, and we can't have that, can we?"

"You're all allergic to emotions," Martin grumbles, although it's clear he doesn't mean it.

"They give us hives," Peter agrees.


	4. Maybe that's the me inside of me

They squish together on the much too small sofa at the end of the day, with paper plates of cake and mugs of tea. Peter doesn't even have the mug halfway to his face, when he immediately sets it back down. 

"My middle name is Ezekiel." His first mate's name is Tadeas, he's allergic to seafood (ironic), and he wants very much to die alone, except does he really?

"After your father. He chose it for you, but you wouldn't have known that, you didn't even know his name -" Jon lowers his own mug, and frowns. "Sorry, that just...happens. I didn't mean to pry."

Peter shrugs. "Doesn't mean much to me, I guess. He was probably just as shitty as the rest of them, right?"

Jon shrugs. "He was a bad Lukas, but I don't know that makes for a good anything else."

"I think I'm a bad Lukas," he says. "Good Lukas's don't form attatchments, especially not as quickly as I've managed."

Jon with all his strange powers (that Peter still doesn't totally understand) looks at him. "You have a very long way to go for my trust," he says. "But I think we'll be stuck here for a while."

He hopes they will. He could live out the rest of his life right here.

Peter nods and takes a drink of his tea, this time. It doesn't reveal any more secrets. Martin puts an arm around his shoulder, and his hand on Jon's, and Peter tries to ignore how both strange and lovely it is that his knees knock against both of theirs.

* * *

They've bought an air mattress, but it's bigger than the bed, and that sparks a debate about who ought to get it. Jon argues that he's the shortest, and can obviously stay in the smallest space. Martin says he doesn't want to sleep alone on the mattress, and Peter says he gets too cold by himself.

They all sleep on the air mattress.

At least there's more room than the bed, and Peter can't exactly say for sure, but he's certain that second night is the best night of sleep he's ever had.

* * *

Jon has to read a statement, on the fifth day. It's one he's brought with him, since apparently he won't be able to get new ones from the Magnus Institute until - well, he didn't catch it, but it'll be a while, and Martin drags him out on a walk while he does it.

"He likes to be alone," Martin says in hushed tones as he digs a warmer looking sweater out of his bag. "They're kind of...well, they're a lot, and they're easy to get lost in."

They walk a ways down the road, in the direction of the village, although they'd have to walk forever to reach it. Martin loops his arm into Peter's and presses close. He doesn't try to explain, or stammer, just leans against Peter and points out into the field. "Look! More cows!"

"I would never, ever dare to guess what your favorite farm animal was," he says. Martin rolls his eyes and drags him closer, still smiling. 

"She's so pretty."

The cow in question slowly starts to sway towards them, stopping occasionally for a bite of grass. Martin states dreamily off into the field and Peter stares dreamily at him.

He could kiss Martin right now. In fact, he very much wants to. With everything he can recall, ever having kissed someone (or even particularly wanting to) is not something he remembers. 

He settles for leaning onto Martin's shoulder. Martin leans back for a bit before retreating, and he thinks that's the end of it, until warm lips press to his cheek. "Still cold," Martin says then, like it justifies any of this. "Maybe we ought to start walking back?"

Peter kisses him, then. Their teeth clack together quite unpleasantly, and there's a great deal of spit involved, and they're both out of breath much too fast, and it's wonderful. Except...Martin won't look at him, now.

"This is an awful idea," he says. 

"We've already made the bad decision. You brought me along."

He laughs and looks back towards the field. "Yeah. Saw it coming, too. I always thought that there was something underneath everything else with you. And it didn't help that...I thought you were really handsome. Maybe I'm just hopeless like that."

"Ah, but you were right, though. Just took your Jon throwing me out into my head to make me realize it."

There is a fog around him, stifling and thick.

"Our Jon," Martin says. "He's just not realized it yet, is all."

Peter laughs, and looks down at the dirt road beneath his feel. Fog doesn't cover it. When did it go away? Oh, right. "I suddenly very much miss being able to disappear."

Martin grabs his hand. "Don't. I want you here." And then, "So that's it, then? You remember?"

"There's gaps, but I remember enough, I think. I'm different enough to say I don't want that, anymore. Well...that's not entirely true."

"O - Oh?"

"Yes. I'd quite like you, Martin. And Elias's Archivist. And I don't intend to give either of you up, bad idea or no."

Martin flushes where the cold hasn't already gotten him. "You're - You're serious? Oh God, your serious about this."

"Very much," he drawls. "Steal you away to the ocean, where no one will ever find you. Or, hmm. Stay right here, in this dull little house." That makes him wonder if this is what people mean when they say, "feels like home."

Martin kisses him, and that feels a great deal like home, too. 

* * *

Jon is more than a little confused by the change in attitude when they return from their walk, but accepts it happily, and only grumbles a little when Peter insists Martin is not nearly a big enough sample size for him to decide if he likes this whole kissing thing or not. 

And then they talk, and talk, which is horribly boring to some degree, but Peter sits through it anyways, because apparently he is making up for two quarterly budget meetings he's absolutely refused to attend and talking semantics makes Jon smile like it's fun for him. 

It's actually lovely weather that evening, and they lie in the overgrown grass in the back garden and look at the stars. Peter knows all of the constellations and Jon can point out the planets and it very much turns into a contest of impressing Martin, but that's alright because he is certain he wins. 

They squish onto the air mattress, and he immediately wraps his arms around whoever managed to be in his left.

"What you said earlier? You're right, you're a terrible Lukas," Jon says, huffing loudly. 

"And very much proud of it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this, you can also find me
> 
> [Here (personal blog)](https://thegreatandpowerfultoaster.tumblr.com) and [here (writing blog!)](https://goodmorningaperture.tumblr.com)
> 
> send prompts if you'd like!


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